


All That's Left Has Gone Away

by thecivilunrest



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And a new baby, Blood, Childbirth, Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecivilunrest/pseuds/thecivilunrest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up around war, as she did with the father that she had, she imagined death to be quick and glorious. The best of deaths were to be remembered, her father always said. But there is no glory in dying in a bed soaked with your own blood, and no one will remember her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That's Left Has Gone Away

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an AU where Richard wins Bosworth and Anne manages to become pregnant again and has a son. I got very sad writing this. Also I know that this isn't very historically accurate, but it does seem like the sort of thing that TWQ would do, so I ignored facts for the fun of this.

Anne is sure that she is dying. 

She cannot blame the midwives for seeing to the child first and leaving her alone in the huge bed. When he came out of her, screaming with healthy lungs, she hadn’t even noticed that the bleeding was not stopping. The babe was healthy and a boy, a prince for a realm that desperately needed an heir. He would be king one day, and that was what everyone had focused on. 

Queens, on the other hand, are not as important. So while the baby was washed and anointed with honey and salt, Anne was left to die. For some reason, she feels fine with that. 

Growing up around war, as she did with the father that she had, she imagined death to be quick and glorious. The best of deaths were to be remembered, her father always said. But there is no glory in dying in a bed soaked with your own blood, and no one will remember her. 

There’s little that she can do now except wait. When Edward was born she had gotten to hold him after he was born, but the midwives won’t give her this child. She’s too weak. So instead she watches as her son is held by other women. Her arms ache for him, but she cannot insist that she is well enough, because no one will listen to her. Besides that, Anne is not sure that she will be able to hold her son at all. 

Instead she drifts and she dreams. Death is a slow thing, like slowly submerging under water, taking her little by little. Her life slips out between her legs and she is done fighting. She fought for the crown, through illness and pregnancy, bringing her second son into the world. After winning all of those battles, there is nothing left to fight for. 

The midwives go out and tell Richard that he has a son. Though he does not love the mother, Richard loves children, and Anne knows that she will love this child as well. He had loved Edward, after all. 

“No,” she hears Richard say through the walls. “I am the king and you cannot tell me what to do.” 

Anne knows that voice. She has had years to learn the inflections of Richard’s voice, and she knows that one. He is angry--one step below shouting. “I WILL GO IN THERE IF I SO PLEASE,” he says, shouting now. 

And then he is in the birthing chambers, closing the doors, ignoring the head midwife who is behind him, surly and unhappy, her mouth in a thin line. Once, seeing Richard like this would have made her heart flutter. More recently looking at Richard has made her heart ache. 

Now, though, now Anne is too tired for either. She just looks at him as he comes to the bed. Though the blood has made its way through the bedding, he does not seem to care. He slips into her bed in a way that he hadn’t since their first son had died, since she had told him what she had suspected all along: that he did not loved her. 

“Don’t leave me now,” he begs her, voice so low that only she can hear. “You can’t leave me now.” 

Anne ignores his plea. He will be fine without her, she knows he will. He can call the bastard girl Elizabeth back to court now that she will be dead, and be happy for it. “My son,” she manages to say. “I want to hold him.” 

“Give me the child,” Richard demands, and immediately the babe is brought to them. Anne tries to reach for him, but fails to be able to. She cannot force her body to do anything now. Richard seems to understand that, so using his arms he folds the boy into her hers, and Anne holds her son for the first time while the father holds them both upright. 

Her son is warm, and beautiful, heartbeat strong against her hands. He looks healthier than Edward had when he was just born, his breathing steady. His hair is dark like his father’s, but she thinks that she sees some of the Neville in him as well. She is glad of it, glad to leave an imprint of herself in the world, even if it is just in her son. “Richard,” she breathes her son’s name. “Name him Richard, after my father.” 

“Of course,” _her_ Richard says. His voice is soft, calm, breath warm on her skin. 

“Love him, even though you did not love me,” Anne commands, as strongly as she can. “I will not be able to make sure of that.” 

“Yes you will,” Richard says. “You cannot die, not before me, and not now. Not when you have just given me a son.” 

“Oh, love,” she breathes, exhausted. She has not called him love in many months, and the word feels strange upon her tongue, but Anne continues on. He may never have loved her, but she loved him, with her whole heart. She still loves him, and she realizes now that he is here that she loves him even on her deathbed. She is such a stupid fool. “You could not save our Edward and now you cannot save me.” 

“I am the King,” he tells her, as though she did not know, as though she did not help him on his ascension. “You are my queen and I command you to stay with me.” 

“Have you not yet learned that you cannot command death, no matter how many battles that you win?” she asks, thinking of poor Henry Tudor, who died in disgrace, his mother cast aside and forgotten. Perhaps she will see him in Heaven, or even Purgatory. Wherever she will end up after she passes from this world. “I want to leave you, Richard. Let me.” 

Her husband takes a deep, shuddering breath. She can feel that much, and it shakes her and her son Richard. She can feel him nod, accepting her death the way she knew he would. There is a part of her--the part of her that is still wounded--that thinks that he will be glad of this, glad of her death. He will be able to take another bride, but even in that she will triumph, for her son will the the king. 

“I have always loved you,” he says, and she hears pain in his voice. For so long they have been little more than strangers, but she still knows him better than she knows herself. “I know you will not believe me anymore, but I have.” 

Anne cannot make herself nod to show that she believes him, even though she does not. In fact, she can barely feel her son in her arms or her husband behind her. She is looking at something else now, and it is warm against her face. 

“I see Isabel,” she tells her son and husband. “And my son Edward.”

Izzy is smiling at her, beckoning for her to come, tears streaming down her face. Edward is running towards her, a bright grin on his face as he laughs in the sunlight. Anne can feel herself smiling back.


End file.
